


Wandering Hearts

by the_unicorn_empress



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, American Civil War, Civil War, Civil War AU, Civil War era, F/F, Post-Civil War, WIP, Wayhaught - Freeform, Wild West AU, Work In Progress, alternate universe - wild west
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_unicorn_empress/pseuds/the_unicorn_empress
Summary: Nicole Haught lost a piece of herself as she watched her family lower her brother's casket into the earth, knowing she'd never see him again in this life. She cried until she couldn't and gasped for breath until her lungs hurt. Despair closed around her from all corners, circling her like a hungry animal in the house she had grown up in. Every picture and sound reminded her of her best friend. She couldn't bear any more time in the house being constantly reminded of her failure to save her brother. Her mother and father weeping for their youngest child throughout the night.The next morning, Nicole rode off at dawn before her parents awoke, in the hopes of locating a distant, new beginning away from the pain and nagging failure of her self-made promise.A.K.A 'TheDeadwoodinspired Civil War era fic nobody asked for'.





	1. Chapter 1

_California, summer of 1861._

When she heard her brother had joined the Union, Nicole Haught donned the identity of Nicholas Haught Jr., an identity she made up in order to serve alongside Conner in the war and protect her baby brother. She had seen things she wished she hadn't. Killed men and other disguised women she would never know or meet. A few, she did meet, from when her camp would trade liquor, games, or even books on occasion, in the still hours of dawn whilst on patrol. All awaiting their orders for the time of attack. She fought and fought, sometimes celebrated, or even mourned.

The worst loss she experienced was one of her last. In their last battle before the war was won, Nicole and Conner had been called with their platoon to operate a siege on a Confederate camp the next state over. 

Conner sacrificed his life in that battle, wedging his body between hers and another soldier's pistol, absorbing the blow for her. Nicole had shot the young Confederate soldier with her rifle straight between the eyes, dropping to her knees, gathering her brother's convulsing body in her arms and ignored the rest of the screaming and death created by the battle.

After they had finally won, dawn peeking shyly over the horizon, Nicole visited her brother's body and cried for her brother and comrades. She even cried for the Confederates, the young ones that didn't know any better than to blindly fight. 

Something broke in her during that battle.

Nicole Haught lost a piece of herself as she watched her family lower her brother's casket into the earth, knowing she'd never see him again in this life. She cried until she couldn't and gasped for breath until her lungs hurt. Despair closed around her from all corners, circling her like a hungry animal in the house she had grown up in. Every picture and sound reminded her of her best friend.

She couldn't bear any more time in the house being constantly reminded of her failure to save her brother. Her mother and father weeping for their youngest child throughout the night.

The next morning, Nicole rode off at dawn before her parents awoke, in the hopes of locating a distant, new beginning away from the pain and nagging failure of her self-made promise.

 

_Purgatory, spring of 1866._

Curtis McCready had always been a kind man. He kept a smile on his face, and a door open for his friends, the whole town loved him dearly. During the winter he fell ill and unfortunately passed away just as the new year began. The town paid their respects to the man for an entire week, and life in Purgatory wasn't quite the same without the jovial gentleman.

In his will, Curtis declared a close friend of his- one of his cowhands, Shorty- as his proxy until his niece could make the trip to town after being notified of his death. Shorty would act in his stead as head of the ranch and take up the spare room, living there in the weeks to come before Waverly’s arrival. 

 

_Massachusetts, spring of 1866._

Waverly Gibson was only twenty-one years of age when a courier came to her with a notice of her Uncle Curtis passing. She weeped at the news of her uncle's passing, feeling her heart break for the first time, and immediately packed all her bags, informing her newly hired hand to prepare for a trip to the Ghost River Triangle.

She had to preserve her uncle's memory, she decided as climbed into the wagon heading for the train station, it was the least she could do after all he had done for her. After taking her in as his own.

What she didn't know was the new and exciting adventure awaiting her past this period of mourning.

 

The journey spanned over four weeks until Waverly arrived in the Ghost River Triangle, the majority by rail, and quarter by coach.

She allowed a rueful smile to pass her lips, gazing upon her childhood town. It had expanded somewhat since her last days there as a mere child, quite a few more buildings occupied the square, citizens bustling about under the day's blistering haze.

As her carriage passed through the square, most of the crowd tried to eagerly peek in, some throwing only mildly curious gazes, while a few were just trying to get by without a hoof trampling them or a wheel running over them.

Waverly’s smile grew at the thought, at least some aspects she remembered hadn't changed.

As the carriage approached her new home, Waverly thought back on her childhood and memories of Curtis, her smile turned to a frown. It was strange, her uncle's sudden passing. Waverly made a promise to investigate the matter further once she had fully settled into her new title.

The carriage pulled to an abrupt halt, lurching Waverly out of her thoughts and off the seat suddenly, she let out a cry of shock.

”Sorry ‘bout that, ma’am!” Lonnie exclaimed after hearing her startled cry, “I shoulda told you we was stoppin’.”

“Quite alright, Lonnie,” Waverly said gently, hoisting herself back onto the seat and began brushing her dress off, “just don't make a habit of it, understand?”

”Yes, ma'am.”

Waverly opened the coach door, greeted by Lonnie, who offered to help her down. She gratefully accepted the gesture, turning her gaze on her uncle's home.

_Her_ home. 

“My, my, my,” a gruff voice greeted cheerfully, a chuckle mixed in, “are these old eyes deceivin’ me, or am I really gazin’ at little Waverly Gibson?”

“Shorty?” Waverly gasped, snapping her gaze upon the older gentleman. “My goodness, it's been ages since I've seen you!”

She quickly strode across the gap between them and barrelled into Shorty, gripping him tightly, her heart warmed with immense affection as he hugged her back. 

“Ah,” Shorty sighed happily, releasing her from his grip after another minute, he patted her shoulder gently, “some things never change.”

“I know,” Waverly sighed in agreement, her gaze leveling upon the house again. “It looks just how it did when I left, Shorty.”

“Ya know, being Curtis’ proxy and all,” Shorty gave a quick shrug of his shoulders, a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth buried underneath his grizzled beard, “if I hadn't kept up the property, your uncle woulda had me out on my ass faster than a rider for the Pony Express.”

Waverly giggled, now turning her attention back to Shorty, smiling ruefully.

“True. Uncle Curtis was known to be strict on occasion. Nevertheless though, a good man, but he could spoil the fun at times.”

Shorty grunted in agreement, silently jerking a thumb in the direction of her carriage, just as Lonnie stumbled, dropping a pile of suitcases on himself and began frantically yelling. His voice echoed across the yard loudly. 

“I'm fine!”

Waverly sighed and raised a hand to massage her temple, glancing at Shorty out of the corner of her eyes tiredly, muttering in explanation, “Lonnie’s a recent hire…”

“Well, how about I go help him and show him how it's done?” Shorty was flashing a full fledged grin at her now, “Sheriff's inside, been waitin’ on your arrival.”

“Thank you, Shorty.” Waverly said, beginning to bid him farewell. “I'll see you in the house after I talk to the sheriff, then you can come be my witness for the signing. Being his proxy and all.”

She winked at her uncle's best friend, watching Shorty begin to make a beeline for Lonnie, introducing himself to the younger man politely, offering a hand with the downed suitcases. 

Lonnie vehemently denied Shorty’s offer, but introduced himself nonetheless. Shorty locked gazes with her and shrugged.

Waverly laughed now, Uncle Curtis would have definitely liked Lonnie’s determination, even though he wasn't always the brightest. 

 

Waverly held her breath after entering the parlor, gazing around the giant house. It was left almost exactly how she would picture it back in Massachusetts when she was homesick. She was also grateful to her uncle allowing her to travel and attend a women's seminary to further her education. 

She had just finished her final classes at Mount Holyoke before her uncle passed. He had even sent a congratulatory letter to her before the spring, explaining how proud he was and that he couldn't wait to see her after four years. 

_Four years,_ Waverly thought with a mournful tone, _and I didn't even visit not once._

“Waverly- uh- _Miss_ Waverly?” Sheriff Nedley asked, correcting himself quickly. “You are her, right?”

Waverly opened her mouth to reply-

“In the flesh, Sheriff,” Shorty interrupted as he closed the door loudly behind himself, scuffing his boots on a crude mat in the doorway. “The one and only.” 

“Yes,” Waverly agreed, tilting her head forward with a bashful smile.

“My, how you've grown, Miss Waverly.” Sheriff Nedley murmured, looking as if he were only just realizing how old he was. Perhaps a little sick with the revelation. “You was still a kid, last I saw you.”

“Indeed, Sheriff,” Waverly agreed for a second time, smile fading now, “now, I understand that you have paperwork for me to sign?”

“Ah,” Nedley grunted, pulling documents from his shoulder bag, also procuring an inkwell and quill, “just need you to sign a few things…”

 

Waverly sighed, it had been a long day, after traveling for weeks, then signing the documents, she had to discuss the future of the ranch with Shorty, which was a tiring ordeal in itself.

She had bid him an early night, retrieving to the room she used to reside in, having been left untouched since her departure for Mount Holyoke. 

She silently prepared for bed, telling herself she'd unpack her suitcases in the morning when she felt better. If she ever felt better.

Wiping tears from her cheeks, Waverly blew out her bedside candle, curling under the familiar blankets. She laid frozen, darkness enveloping her, the only sounds were Shorty’s snores drifting through the walls and down the narrow hallway from the spare bedroom he was occupying for tonight before returning to the cowhand quarters the next day.

Leaving Waverly alone by herself in the house, only the whisper of a memory that her uncle ever lived there. No family again.

She would deal with that tomorrow, she told herself again quickly.

Waverly shut her eyes harshly, forcing herself to count her breaths until she drifted off into a fitful slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a literal pain to write, aside from being busy with work and personal stuff, I rewrote it about a million times. I promise I haven't abandoned this or my other WIPs. 
> 
> My sincerest thanks for sticking around.

Nicole Haught looked over the small town of Purgatory, pulling her hat more securely to her head, she clicked her tongue, steadily nudging her mare forward through the town and kept her eyes low, trained directly to the path ahead. 

Warm, soft orange beams of sunlight streaked upon her back eagerly, driving the early morning chill from her weary bones, allowing Nicole to shift tiredly in the saddle and soak in welcome heat to her chilled fingers. 

The mornings were still bitterly cold, the lingering ruthless chill of winter thawing to cheerful spring afternoons. 

Her legs only ever ached from months within the saddle now, having become accustomed to endless days on end traveling by horseback, and thus far, her trip hadn't been nearly as long as she had expected. 

Nicole pulled her mount to a halt, gripping the reins tightly for a minute before she slowly dragged herself down from the saddle. Once her boots connected to the dusty ground, she limped over to the post and quickly tied the worn leather straps to it, securing the reins across the pole, she made her way onto the creaking porch with curiosity streaming through her mind.

Nicole squinted, peering through a foggy window, scanning the inside of the modest-looking sheriff's office that sat joined to a bank. 

No signs of occupation from within at the current hour, but she continued hither, a strong feeling urging her that she would find what she was looking for in it. 

“Anyone home?” Nicole asked loudly upon entry, striding through the door with ease, spurs tapping against the wood quietly. She looped a thumb through her belt as she inspected the poorly lit interior, a habit she picked up observing the soldiers in her platoon, her shoulders bent forward, unconsciously mimicking what she had forced herself to do in the Union to fit in.

Appear more masculine with a loose, confident posture, she had learned by her observations. 

“Can I help you, uh-” a man's voice began, drawing Nicole’s attention to the source: a round man in his 50’s or 60’s, a giant blonde mustache peeked out from under his round nose, reminding her of an animal one of the soldiers described as a walrus, “mister…” 

“Haught,” Nicole finished, allowing a polite jerk of her head toward the man, “Nicholas Haught Jr., sir.” 

“Nicholas, eh…” he murmured, casting a skeptical gaze upon her, subtly craning his neck to take a full view of her in, pensively running a hand across his mustache gently, “you the one I got a fancy telegraph for ‘bout a week and a half ago?” 

“Yessir,” Nicole affirmed strongly, “I am, Sheriff.” 

“You arrived earlier than I expected, Mr. Haught.” the sheriff grunted, a friendly smile gracing his weathered face now as he chuckled. “Good timing, too. I looked over your credentials and was pleased with ‘em. Quite the accomplishments you got in your favor, kid. I was impressed.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Nicole replied, standing a little taller, “that mean you been considerin’ my proposition?” 

“I have,” the sheriff added seriously, nodding in a slow, tantalizing confirmation, “an I gotta say… this hectic little town could use a deputy. I been needin’ a partner possessin’ all the forgotten blessings of youth, to help out an old man such as myself. I, for damn sure, ain't quite as spry as I use to be, y’know. It'd be a mighty damn waste to let a person like you ride back off...” 

Nicole stood in silence, waiting with baited breath, fidgeting as she gazed at the sheriff with enormous anticipation for his next sentence. 

She stared down at the shorter man like a hawk would to a mouse, her brown eyes glinting with a muted excitement, observing the man's thoughtful stare. 

He hooked his free hand around one of his suspenders before answering, gesturing at himself. 

“I'm Sheriff Randy Nedley- as you already know- and I'd like to officially welcome you to the Ghost River Triangle, Deputy Haught.” 

Sheriff Nedley smiled once again and offered a polite, welcoming hand in her direction. Nicole gripped it firmly, giving it an enthusiastic shake, a grin crossing her lips, dimples popping visibly.

“Thank you, sir.”

 

 

__

_The child gazed up at the mountains, feeling inexplicable elation at her surroundings. Birds whistled in the foreground, a stream also whispered distantly across the path, and mother nature chattered away in an excited song of spring beginning to make way from underneath a harsh winter's slumber._

_A frequent occurrence, each detail with the same striking clarity every time it played again._

_She listened to her mother softly sing their travel song, a hymn from church she heard over and over. She only paid attention and enjoyed the song whenever her mother sang it._

_“Waverly,” her older sister interrupted, the girl was obviously bored, or else she would have left Waverly alone to take in the beautiful morning light fluttering through the thick pine trees as she listened to their mother's gentle lilt._

_“Wynonna,” Waverly pouted, crossing her arms slightly, “I'm tryin’ to listen to Momma.”_

_”Definitely,” Wynonna murmured, uninterested, pointing out to the thick trees all around, “do you think there are wolves out there?”_ __

_“Oh, there are more than wolves out there, Wyn.”_

_Waverly gazed up at her father now, the man would occasionally hum along to their mother's voice, gravelly and coarse._

_“Like what, Papa?”_

_“Bears, snakes, mountain lions, cougars…” her father began listing, a grin beginning to spread across his lips, a twinkle in his light eyes, “creatures that like to… tickle naughty children!”_

_“Papa!” Wynonna shrieked hysterically, flailing her limbs erratically at their father's movements, laughing, “no fair!”_

_“Honey,” he said, pulling Wynonna in close, dropping a kiss against her raven locks, “life ain't fair. But no matter how rough the road becomes, or however steep the mountain path, you jus’ gotta keep on, baby. Yeah?”_

_“Yes, Papa.” Wynonna grumbled, sulking when he ruffled her hair affectionately, beginning to become moody._

_“Atta girl,” he murmured, releasing Wynonna, a gruff chuckle passing his lips at the sight of her brooding._

_He gently patted Waverly’s head when he passed his youngest child, pausing to stroke her cheek momentarily, humming again as he continued walking to the front of the cart and join his wife there._

 

__

_She remembers waking to the sound of voices arguing and observing how still the cart was. It had to be close to sundown now, judging by the crickets singing in the distance and the muted chorus of night creatures._

_Wynonna gripped her, knuckles turning whiter than snow, her breathing low and offbeat in Waverly’s sensitive ears._

_She could just barely make out her father and a masked man standing nose-to-nose, her father glared into the man's beady eyes, his gruff voice full of outrage._

_“Like shit I'm paying a ‘traveler's’ fee,” he snarled, gripping his clunky rifle closer, peering down in anger, “I may not be no fancy educated gentleman, but that don't make me no idiot!”_

__

_Waverly groggily spied her mother clutching her father's shoulder tightly in a silent warning, nudging him gently to alert him of the men hidden in the bushes, poorly concealed by the shadowed brush._

_Noticing their presence, he lowered his gun by a fraction, digging through his worn shoulder bag._

_“We ain't got much,” he gritted out, tossing their savings at the masked man angrily, “now take it and git.”_

_“I'm sorry, sir,” the masked man began, lazily inspecting the roll of cash, gesturing at her mother with his colt in a subtle threat, “but that just ain't enough for our services. I want the necklace, too.”_

_“You son of a bitch,” her father roared out of the blue, jamming his rifle into the other man's chest harshly, ready to squeeze the trigger as he wedged himself between the masked man and his wife, “don't you fuckin’ dare point that thing at my wife, cocksucker!”_

_“I don't like your tone of voice-”_

_“And I don't give a shit,” her father spit out, proceeding to shove the muzzle of his rifle under the masked man's nose, growling, “you fuckin’ point that gun in my wife's direction again and I'll skin you from the balls up. Make you wish you was never born.”_

_”Baby,” her mother began speaking in their direction, voice calm and reassuring, addressing her eldest daughter, “Wynonna, remember what I've instructed you over and over to do?”_

_“Y-yes, Mo-Momma,” Wynonna choked out, her voice quivering in fear. “I d-do.”_

_“Good girl.” her mother gripped her father's shoulder tighter than before, leaning close to his ear, “honey… the children need to leave.”_

_Those are the very last words Waverly remembers hearing her mother say before gunshots fire and screaming begins._

 

Waverly arose in a panic, grasping at her sheets desperately, searching for a lifeline, tears beginning to wet her cheeks for a second time, in wrenching, heaving gasps for air. 

“Papa, Mama,” she cried meekly, hugging her knees, curling into herself with tight, wobbling sobs, “Wynonna, I'm so sorry...”

Waverly sat for a good portion of time, frozen in the darkness of her room, unwilling to move, trapped within the eye of her mind, thoughts swirling in a raging tornado of emotional destruction. 

Her parents had been slaughtered by those bandits. 

Wynonna left her in a hollow tree trunk for protection, promising to return once it was safe.

That hadn't been true.

She remembered crying loudly, frightened by the sounds of shouting and the piercing ring of gunshots rumbled, vibrating the old, weathered bark.

She was left only with her mother's, father's, and older sister's screaming that still haunted her in vague, hazy distant memories of the gunfight.

According to her uncle’s recounting of the evidence from the event, she had been placed in a hollowed tree trunk for protection, and he presumed the bandits grabbed Wynonna before she could hide, executed alongside her parents. All of this which she requested in full detail before she parted for Mount Holyoke.

Waverly breathed a mournful sigh, taking a glimpse out her window, she marveled at the dewy morning befalling the ranch, pushing herself to stand and forcing her legs to carry her to the empty sill. She stared out upon the miles of land, the scene completed with rolling acres of hills to the mountainside, covered in a haze of pink sunlight timidly peeking over.

After allowing herself one final glance in the direction of the smudged glass, Waverly trudged down the steps groggily, still in her nightgown, she was thoroughly surprised at the sight of Chrissy Nedley, Stephanie Jones, and Mercedes Gardner clustered in her uncle's kitchen.

The group of women were busy helping prepare breakfast with her uncle's maid, Rosita, and obviously overwhelming the woman, who muttered in her mother tongue in mild annoyance.

Curtis informed her of the young woman at the beginning of the previous year, telling Waverly that Rosita livened up the house in the still and rather lonely mornings, and helped an aging man such as himself keep up around the house and kitchen, especially with feeding himself and all the men of the ranch.

“Mornin’, Waverly,” Shorty greeted from his position at the table, a pair of cracked spectacles sat upon his crooked nose, multiple letters in his hands. “These kind young ladies volunteered to come help out Rosita this mornin’, said they was awful sorry for you with Curtis’ passing. Figured you'd appreciate the help.”

“Of course,” Waverly began slowly, wondering just what trick was up Miss Jones’ sleeve. She knew Chrissy to be a kind soul, even if she kept company like Stephanie’s. “I'm terribly sorry, but if you'll excuse me, I'll just go ahead and retreat to my quarters and prepare for the day.”

Waverly proceeded to climb the stairs with a swift, curt nod in their direction to indicate her acknowledgement of their deed.

“I appreciate your gesture of kindness, ladies.”

 

Waverly sat at the head of the table uneasily. It was a foreign experience for her, sitting in her uncle's spot at the table and not her own, no longer gazing up at the kind, fatherly-figure.

She quietly gazed across the long dining room table and observed the other cowhands sitting with her, some familiar, some not.

Lonnie, of course, sat to her right. He was the wild card of the table, assisting in whichever task needed the most attention and tending to, dabbling in all sorts of areas and learning the most he could to help around the ranch. Primarily, he served as Waverly’s escort and carriage driver for the moment.

Shorty sat immediately to her left, as senior with the longest record of working and most experience on the ranch, aside from Curtis, his knowledge irreplaceable to the farm.

On Lonnie’s right sat Perry Crofte, a man only a few years older than her, whom she spotted frequently around town as children. He kept to himself mostly, but was a kind man, and definitely strong enough to handle most tasks thrown his way.

Immediately on Shorty’s left sat Jeremy. The young man had been but between hay and grass when he arrived in town a year before she had taken off for the seminary, his mother sent him to Purgatory out of fear of him being enslaved in the south. He was thin and scrawny when she met him, from days of walking and little to eat. Her uncle saw the young man and his potential and took him in. It was such a Curtis thing to do. Jeremy had definitely grown since she last saw him, standing far taller than when they met, his build looked healthy and his dark complexion glowed from the nurturing he received over the years.

On Jeremy’s left was Pete York, and sat across from Pete was his brother Kyle, both of whom Waverly had known since childhood. They were known as the rowdy type on occasion, but oftentimes proved to be reliable, hardworking men.

The remaining men at the table were: Carl, a man whom she also knew from childhood and was merely an acquaintance to Waverly, Ewan Allenbach; the only man that was currently running for office _and_ pushing for a proper fire department in Purgatory, and a strange man only known as Juan Carlo, Curtis’ final hire before passing.

One chair sat empty. Her chair.

The previous day, she and Shorty had decided over their long discussion to travel into town over the next week and look for a new hire, agreeing they could use the help, and notified the sheriff as well to keep an eye out for any potential hires.

As they ate, Waverly realized that Miss Jones had come to merely gaze and dot on Ewan with honeyed words, in the guise of genuine care in an attempt to catch his eye and earn his affections.

She noted that Chrissy had actually come because she was an honest woman that cared, and seemed to have unintentionally caught Ewan’s gaze, by the frequent ganders the older gentleman threw her way, only the kindest words leaving his lips to grace her ears.

As for Mercedes, she discovered that the older lady was no longer a Gardner, but a Crofte, having been wedded to Perry last spring despite her family's protesting, and a frequent guest in the morning to join her husband and help. She had chosen love over their conceded way of life, no care as to whether she inherited their Inn and fortune.

Waverly shared a glance with Shorty over Stephanie’s improper behavior, and he only threw back a perplexed stare over his tin mug, his bushy brows meshing with his hairline as he gave her a tiny half shrug.

Waverly blinked, confusion rising in her chest.

She had no idea if she should feel insulted by Miss Jones or not, using her grief, a period where she was mourning the loss of her uncle, as a mere excuse to attempt at charming one of her employees.

Waverly decided to take a path her uncle would approve, she was understandably upset at the ridiculous act, but she wouldn't cause Miss Jones embarrassment, at least, not until she eventually tried any tricks like in their days of youth.

During her mind's ramble, a swift rapping upon the door called her attention to the present again, and precisely as she was about to remove herself from the table, she turned her gaze in the direction of the noise, curious as to what the call was for.

Lonnie immediately lept up from his spot at the table, mistaking her hesitant curiosity as unwillingness to answer the door in her period of mourning, quickly bounding across the room to answer the door.

“Is Miss Gibson in yet?”

“Yessir,” Lonnie confirmed with a nod, and Waverly watched the back of his lanky frame shift his weight for moment, blocking the entryway, “would you like to leave a message?”

“Sure,” the smooth rumble on the other side of Lonnie replied, “tell her that Bobo Del Rey down at the _Revenant_ is layin’ his callin’ card down for Miss Gibson’s presence as soon as she's up for it. Need to discuss some business with her.”

“That all?”

“Sure,” the voice said, not put off by Lonnie’s tone, “have a good day. You tell Miss Gibson that Bobo sends his best regards.”

“You too,” Lonnie murmured, disgruntled, pushing the door closed behind him and turning to Waverly, “you hear that, ma'am?”

“Yes, Lonnie.”

“Bobo Del Rey callin’ on you,” Shorty repeated indignantly, abandoning his drink and meal, he slammed a fist upon the table, gathering the attention of all present, “that lousy chiseler ain't up to no good, Waverly.”

“I presumed as much, Shorty,” Waverly murmured in agreement, lightly folding her hands across her lap before replying calmly, “but that doesn't mean I shouldn't meet him.”

“Well,” Shorty griped, earning various stares from his fellow cowhands, “whatever you choose, you keep an eye on him. That snake has a way with words, my dear.”

“I know, Shorty, I know.”

 

Waverly arrived at the _Revenant_ close to sundown, insisting Lonnie stay at the carriage during her impromptu parley with Bobo Del Rey.

She entered the saloon, ignoring leers from a few patrons, making her way to the counter where Jonas stood behind, appearing to be asleep with boredom.

“Ah, Miss Waverly,” Jonas started in his smooth drawl after catching a glimpse of her, allowing himself to take a leering gander over her figure, a grin that made him look more like he caught a bad case of saddle rash spread across his face, “Bobo thought you might not show.”

“Well, he ought try thinking again,” Waverly murmured, keeping her chin held high. “Now, please do show me where your employer is hiding.”

“Of course.”

Jonas slinked from behind the bar, gesturing towards her to follow. Waverly hesitated, but marched forth, following Bobo’s henchman.

He led her up the staircase, down a narrow hall right to Bobo’s office, knocking twice.

“Yes?”

“Bobo,” Jonas leaned against the door, bettering the chance of Bobo hearing him, “Miss Waverly’s here to see you.”

“Lead her in, Jonas.”

At the command, Jonas peeled himself from the door, allowing Waverly to make her way past him, deftly stepping into the small entryway.

Waverly paused in the doorway, giving his lavish choice of decorum a quick inspection, her blue eyes landing on Bobo, full of muted distrust.

“Please,” Bobo said, his voice silky and dangerously low, gooseflesh crawling across the nape of her neck at his utterance, “take a seat, Miss Waverly.”

She glided over to the only other chair in room, politely lowering herself to the cushion, folding her hands over lap, her spine stiff as a rod.

“My condolences over your uncle's untimely passing. Curtis was a good man,” Bobo told her, standing and making his way to a table full of shot glasses and liquor, and began to pour himself a glass, “would the lady like some?”

“No thank you, Mr. Del Rey.” Waverly declined, frowning. “I never really was a big fan of nokum-stiff, as my uncle would put it.”

“I see,” Bobo sighed, throwing his head back, downing his glass in one hearty gulp, he clicked his tongue against his teeth thoughtfully, “methinks, that perhaps, your mind could be persuaded to a different train of thought on the matter.”

And then, she realized, that Bobo no longer sang chin music of liquor to her. No, he was attempting to wile his charms into a deal. Or something possibly more sinister.

“Mr. Del Rey,” Waverly began calmly, her composure sharp as a knife, “aside from all your jawing, what are you trying to say?”

Bobo raised one of brows, stroking his beard, he took a seat across from her, a predatory gleam in his feral gaze.

“Didn't your uncle tell you?”

“Tell me…” Waverly paused, an uneasy air filling her lungs, “what, Mr. Del Rey?”

“My, my, my. Poor little Waverly,” Bobo clicked, taunting her with mock surprise and pity, “left all alone in the dark...”

“Mr. Del Rey…”

“You were left a claim. And big sister, Wynonna,” Bobo uttered so suddenly that Waverly’s head began reeling at the mention, “is still very much alive and well, my dear.”

“Stop it!” Waverly cried in outrage, leveling her enraged gaze with Bobo, hissing, “I do not know how or where you came to possess such information about my past, but do not dare toy with me in this manner, or I will assure you that you will regret your actions, Mr. Del Rey.”

“But don't you remember?” Bobo inquired falsely, ignoring her, a grin tearing at his lips, “your big sister came with you to your uncle's house and took off after making sure you were safe.”

“I-” Waverly faltered, beginning to question her truths, her world crumbling, “I do not recall such memory.”

“I heard from a little bird that she contacted your uncle shortly before his passing. Something about that claim your family owns…”

She frantically pushed herself from the chair, unable to bear one more second of this man's mind games. She refused to stay and decipher what his motivations were for telling her this.

“Good evening, Mr. Del Rey.”

Having uttered those words, too loud and high-pitched, Waverly stormed out of Bobo’s office in a whirlwind of balled up anger, her skirts furiously sweeping across the wood as she rushed out, not sparing the man a second glance.

If this was his attempt at grabbing her claim and ranch, he had done a fairly poor job of it, she thought. 

 

As a slow, muggy evening crept upon Purgatory, Nicole Haught stood on the porch of the _Gardner Inn_ , her current housing for the time being, perfectly overseeing the town square.

It was a quaint little structure with two stories, not terribly roomy, but it would make due until she had time to either buy or build her own house after she settled in around town.

She opted to meander on the porch after dinner, taking in the unusual buzz of a lone cart being wheeled through the street.

It was the only thing to keep her occupied aside from watching miners, cowboys, fur traders, businessmen and visitors alike stroll on in the _Revenant_ to drink themselves dizzy, gamble perhaps, and even indulge themselves with horizontal refreshments courtesy of one of the many fancy girls found in the saloon.

Nicole decided the latter was much less entertaining to watch, she began to rest her weight over the railing in a languid manner, slowly trailing her eyes after the rickety cart.

“I he-heard you… you went and… and gone to some… some fancy seminary,” Champ slurred, crass and broken, one could tell he was wallpapered by his tone alone, “that… ain't fuckin’ right… ain't a woman's pl-place...”

Nicole’s ears perked up, her gaze immediately traveled across the dirt road, abandoning the cart, landing directly onto a side profile of Champ’s unsteady frame, towering over a young woman. His nose practically touched the stranger's as his stale breath washed over the poor lady's face, another woman whom was most obviously displeased with his whiney attitude.

She gripped the rail tightly, leaning forward even farther, bent at the waist, and could only be left guessing at just what the town's drunken idiot was up to.

Or rather, which lady he decided to bitch at tonight for denying his courtship in the past, Nicole thought, her gaze easily rolled onto to his unenthusiastic company.

She couldn't blame the woman for not feeling joy of any sort by the encounter.

The woman Champ pestered was quite the look-see, if Nicole were allowed to state her opine on the matter.

She was gorgeous, dressed in the prettiest blue gown and corset Nicole ever laid eyes on, with beautifully thick, winding, chestnut-colored locks that tumbled in majestic curls over her petite shoulders.

Nicole wagered she was taking in the sight of an ethereal figure and could understand why Hardy chose to bother this woman, she thought as she gazed over a soft face, warm, rosy cheeks complementing bright, sparkling baby blue eyes.

The woman held her head high, glancing at Champ out of the corner of her slanted eyes, thoroughly annoyed by his drunken shenanigans.

“If you'll excuse me, Mr. Hardy,” she said firmly, making to politely step back from him, “I'll be taking my leave now.”

“But why,” Champ began angrily, suddenly locking his rough grip around her forearm tightly, “why the fuck… did you fuckin’ turn m- my proposal down?”

Nicole straightened and hopped off the porch in a rush, she began to hoof it in their direction at a hurried pace, a large scowl set into place, glowering at Champ with disdain.

A day.

She had been in Purgatory for less than a day and had to pull this idiot off of more women than she could count on one hand.

“We were merely children, after all. And I have my reasons for that, Mr. Hardy,” the woman explained cooly, determined to pull her arm free of his hold, now allowing Champ the privilege of a glare full of utter disgust, “reasons I would much rather keep to myself.”

Nicole’s boots thudded heavily across the dirt as she made long strides toward the fussing pair.

“Well,” Champ suddenly spat at the ground near her skirt, thrusting his other hand on the small of her back, aggressively tugging the woman closer, “that… that ain’t fuckin’ good enough. I lo-loved you… s-still love yo-you, Waverly. Even… if you… you think backwards for a lady...”

She wouldn't- _couldn't_ \- stand for Champ’s unseemly behavior. Not after she had witnessed how Union pigs treated the poor women forced to a life of prostitution, or even women who came to tend to the wounded and sick, their jeers and rough handling of the helpless women had made her sick with rage.

“Please remove your hands from me, Mr. Hardy,” the stranger- Waverly- hissed, her patience for the drunk man's antics dwindling, her words laced with reasonable venom, “ _now_.”

Champ glared at Waverly and seemed as if he were going to harm her, one of his fists poised to strike her.

Waverly stared in mild disbelief and a fire ignited in her eyes, muted by the dim light, yet so bold and passionate that Nicole stopped in her tracks, inhaling deeply at the sight.

A loud smack abruptly echoed across the square, the noise left Nicole staring in cautious intrigue upon the scene unfolding before her, whilst she felt a mixture of horror, mirth, and admiration stirring within her after hearing the woman’s next utterance.

“Champ Hardy, you _will_ release me this instance, or the gracious Lord so help me if you do not! I will not allow a snivilng, petulant, ill-mannered drunkard such as yourself to bulldoze me!”

This woman was quite the spitfire, no doubt to it.

“Hardy!” Nicole barked gruffly, sounding suspiciously close to the sheriff, beginning to stomp in the man's direction, a piercing glare trained on Champ as he appeared ready to retaliate from the slap, “I'll cuff your goddamn ear again if you don't pull your horns in and get a wiggle on outta here!”

Upon hearing the deputy’s threat, Champ immediately dropped Waverly as if she were burning his palms, he stumbled a few inches from her and turned tail to drunkenly scuttle off, leaving her on the ground in outrage.

“Unfortunately, you ain’t the first lady I've had the displeasure of witnessin’ that blowhard harass today.” Nicole told Waverly, anger lacing her tone, keeping an eye on Champ to comfirm he actually left as she offered the woman a hand. ”For such a flush skirt, you handled yourself fair enough out there, miss.”

“Oh,” Waverly huffed in anger, graciously accepting Nicole’s outstretched hand, heaving herself out of the dirt with the help, brushing the dust from her gown quickly, “I have no reason to doubt you on your word, mister… ?”

“Haught,” Nicole said, a friendly grin appearing as she swiftly dipped her hat in a polite, courteous nod. Her teeth appeared to gleam brightly against her dirt-smeared dimples as she replied in a low, well-mannered tone, “Nicholas Haught Jr., ma'am. But you may just call for me as Deputy Haught.”

Now shyly smiling in return- warm and angelic, Nicole thought- Waverly delicately presented a gloved hand in her direction.

“Waverly Gibson. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Deputy Haught.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Miss Gibson,” Nicole replied formally, gently gripping Waverly’s hand, leading it up to her lips and dropping a tender kiss to the thinly-veiled skin, “I will say that Purgatory is turnin’ out to be more interestin’ than I previously thought, that's for sure.”

Nicole slowly released Waverly's grip, her hand lingering for just a few more seconds than anything considered friendly.

“I should allow you to get back to your business, ma’am. Find Hardy and drag him back to the calaboose for the night… I reckon Sheriff Nedley ain't gonna be too pleased with his behavior,” Nicole explained, with a soft chuckle, “you have a good evenin’ and stay safe now, Miss Gibson.”

Waverly nodded, beginning to take her aforementioned leave, she shared one last, fluttering smile with Nicole.

Her chest swelled with an unexplainable feeling. The same feeling she'd get when she flew across miles of land on horseback, when she discovered new rivers that roared with life, or simply staring across a prairie at the sun as dawn gazed over the horizon.

“You as well, Deputy Haught.”

Nicole waved, allowing herself a gander upon the woman’s retreating figure with mild appreciation once Waverly had turned away. She found that even at first glance, she sure did admire the silhouette that blue dress and corset cast in the evening's soft, yellow glow.

“Deputy,” the woman uttered, unexpectedly turning back on her heel, startling Nicole. She gazed up at Nicole, examining the tall redhead curiously, “will I ever have the pleasure of running into you again under better circumstances? ”

Nicole grinned, meeting Waverly’s gaze boldly, and looped her thumbs in her belt as she had during her meeting with the sheriff that morning.

“I'd take a promiscuous gamble and reckon so, Miss Gibson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember if the weird angel priest is named Juan Carlo or Juan Carlos, so I'm just sticking with Carlo, since the internet says that. But I'm not 100% sure and I'm too lazy to verify. XD


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went on a brief hiatus because a family member recently passed away, but I'm back now. Thank you for being patient.

_Purgatory, April 3rd, 1866_

_Conner,_

_A year has dawned on me, a harsh, bitter passin’ of time, I still feel remorse and failure. That I couldn't fulfill my promise. Couldn't protect you. I still beg forgiveness for everything I didn't manage to get right, dear brother. That evenin’ we put you to the earth, I run from home and ain't seen Ma or Pop since. Like to think now you might be lookin’ down. Proud, perhaps, I quit my tomfoolery of the past year, decided to put my affairs in order. Got a job as deputy in a funny ‘lil town in the Ghost River Triangle. You woulda loved it here. It ain't big, nothin’ silly like California. Definitely ain't nowhere near home. ‘Bout a two day ride on a train or a month in saddle to get here. There's a nice tranquility to it. All the folks here know the other, an there ain't much to do, ‘cept play cards after work. Small town stuck to its roots. Jus’ your kinda likin’. I wish you were still ‘round to share this with._

_Your sister,_

_Nicole_

Nicole sighed, gazing down at the yellowed, worn pages of the withering journal dedicated to her brother, her pencil scratching gently as she scribbled the last of her thoughts into reality. She then delicately balanced her pencil on the desk, tucking the journal away, preparing for the day ahead of her.

Washing the seemingly eternal grime from her face and hands to her best abilities, Nicole thought over the previous days, swiftly dropping the rag back into the dirty basin full of murky water.

Her mind wandered to the beautiful Miss Gibson, a woman held in high regard by most in town- if not all- and it sounded as if she returned that to most around her. Loved and adored by all. The belle of Purgatory.

Of course, she had personality and that charming little smile or furrow of her brow… even at gunpoint, Nicole would never admit that just perhaps she spent a little too much time observing one Waverly Gibson from afar when the young woman came into town for personal business.

Nicole shook her head, pulling herself back down from the clouds, and began buttoning a fresh shirt, throwing a vest on, and stuffed the tails of the shirt into her dirty pants, lastly tightening her belt and gun to her hip. After jamming her feet into her boots, she pushed her hair back and pulled her gray Stetson on, running her fingers across the frayed brim, tugging at it nervously. Those clouds sure were beautiful, though, her mind told her gently in an attempt to stall her. She secured her deputy’s badge to her vest and stepped out of her room with a heaving grunt, shuffling down the stairs of the Inn to the direction of the barn before making off for the sheriff's office to begin her daily duties.

 

 

Waverly stared at her uncle's letters, a cloud of sorrow and confusion chorused throughout her mind. One question loudly wailing over all else: _had Curtis deceived her?_

Curtis- may his soul rest in peace once again- was a very kind and respectable, hardworking, straightforward and honest man.

She simply could not understand why her uncle would lie to her about Wynonna. And she certainly knew not of Mr. Del Rey’s peculiar reasoning for divulging her this information, showing her his hand, if his balderdash were remotely honest. Or even the thought of Wynonna knowing of her dwellings and not bothering to contact her. Perhaps if she went through Curtis’ personal letters, then she would be able to piece together the mystery.

Find semblance of a feeling close to solace and peace, feelings she seldom remembered with much wisdom to how fast they could be taken away.

With her skirt bouncing at her feet, she clutched her uncle's vault key and quickly trekked out the front door, ignoring the clouds of dust she kicked up on her path to the barn. Striding through the double-doors in a flurry of urgency and determination, directly to the stall where her lean black-and-white Arabian stallion resided, she yanked the horse's bridle and saddle from the hook and entered the pen. A couple of minutes passed and Waverly gently coaxed him into the items, opening the door to guide him out.

Doc happily followed her outside, shaking his sleek black mane in excitement, his lip rolling in an enthusiastic snort.

Once she completed her task of leading him out of the barn and into the heat of afternoon's light, she quickly jammed her foot into the stirrup, gracefully pushing herself into the saddle with the agility from years of practice.

She knew that she would most likely receive an earful from Shorty that evening for handling Doc by herself, and going off on her own after the incident with Champ that occurred last week, but she could no longer afford to wait.

Waverly firmly nudged Doc’s ribs with her heels, encouraging the stallion to begin a smooth canter, riding off in the direction of the town. As she rode, gazing out over the sunshine bathed land, her mind drifted to Deputy Haught.

She had seen the Deputy around town more this week than even Shorty and the farmhands, much to her surprise. The tall, charming redhead had weedled a spot in her affections, and she had also been a bit surprised to discover upon closer and thorough inspection that Deputy Nicholas Haught was actually a woman masquerading as a man, and quite convincingly so, for that matter.

Waverly sighed, wondering if she would encounter Deputy Haught at all on her way to the bank, thinking how it was probably better if she didn't, telling herself it would be better to handle Del Rey’s shenanigans on her own.

She steeled her resolve on the affair.

Starting that day, she was going to do everything in her power to solve the mystery surrounding her life and her uncle's death, come hell or high water.

 

 

Once Waverly had secured Doc to one of only two posts open, deciding to tie Doc up outside the post office at the other end of town, rather not risking to leave her horse outside the Revenant, she began marching in the direction of the bank, quickly rounding a corner.

Colliding directly into an unsuspecting stranger.

“Woah there, might wanna watch where you're heading, little lady!”

Waverly found herself being steadied by a pair of warm, strong hands, greeted to the sight of dimples and soft brown eyes, casting a shadow down on her with a light, teasing glint shining in them. Her eyes connected with the deputy’s as she held onto her, and with their proximity she felt her heart grip tighter, seeing the way brown eyes sailed down to gaze at her lips and back up to meet her stare once again.

Uncle Curtis was most likely rolling in his grave, but she had come to terms with who she was at Mount Holyoke, the irony of the occurrence had mortified her then. Now, now she was colored intrigued.

Was it possible… no, it must simply be an act, Waverly immediately told herself.

“Deputy Haught,” Waverly squeaked, turning her head away momentarily, clearly flustered, blazing heat enveloped her cheeks and neck, and she fanned herself urgently, taking a moment to lose herself in the depth of the tall redhead’s stare once she turned her head back, “my apologies.”

“S’okay, ma'am.”

Deputy Haught’s voice washed over Waverly in that friendly tone as she slowly removed her grip from the brunette’s shoulders, trailing her fingers down lightly across Waverly’s triceps in a ghostly touch, finally placing her hands on her belt in a relaxed stance. The deputy’s bright eyes and inviting grin still aimed in her direction, easy, and oh-so-welcoming.

“Would have been something mighty awful if you fell… damaged that pretty dress… maybe even hurt yourself, Miss Gibson.”

Curse that charming smile and exquisite facial structure, Waverly thought, she didn't have time for it at the moment. Perhaps she'd entertain it in the future, if lady luck looked fortunately down upon her, she was an extremely busy woman with personal mysteries to solve and a reputation to uphold, after all.

“Oh- I- thank you,” Waverly stammered uncomfortably, flabbergast at her thoughts, “I really must tend to my business.”

“May I accompany you then, Miss Gibson? I just happen to notice you rode in by yourself. Which I seen you usually don't. I'd hate for any miscreants to pester you on a glorious day such as this one, ma'am.”

The deputy need not point fingers nor utter any names for Waverly to understand just whom she was referring to.

“Well…” Waverly began tentatively, unable to fathom just how she would fabricate an excuse for the hopeful, hard-to-resist woman of justice. She cast a thoughtful gaze over the deputy after a beat, reconsidering, “I would greatly appreciate your assistance in a personal matter, Deputy.”

“Ma'am,” the deputy started formally, holding a polite arm out for Waverly to grasp, “it'd be an honor to assist you.”

“A true gentleman,” Waverly approved coyly, giggling to herself at the banter, looping her arm through the redhead’s, a bashful smile tugging at her lips, “I shall be forever grateful, sir.”

“All my pleasure, ma’am.”

They strolled past the various shops and people, arm-in-arm, Deputy Haught ambling alongside Waverly slowly, a grin on the redhead's face, displaying brilliant white teeth and dimples again. A look, that Waverly observed, had been just for her whenever the two exchanged pleasantries.

“If it ain't too much to ask,” Deputy Haught began curiously, “what is this matter you need assistance for?”

“Oh, I'm visiting my uncle's vault and I hoped you would do me the greatest kindness of helping me piece something together. It is rather strange, my uncle's passing, a few details are… foggy.”

“Well,” Deputy Haught looked a smidge uncomfortable at the topic, “I, uh- heard about that… most of the buzz when I first arrived... I'm sorry for your loss. I do promise to see what I can do for you, Miss Gibson.”

“Please,” Waverly said, turning her gaze up at the redhead, “do call me Waverly, Deputy Haught. I have a feeling we'll be getting to know one another better over this ordeal.”

As they walked, Waverly and Deputy Haught held a long conversation, the deputy was quite the charmer, being sweet and polite to her the entire time and actually investing time to know her, aside from their brief greetings and whatnot from the week thay had flown by.

They finally strolled into the bank, there was only the teller in there at the moment, and it appeared Sheriff Nedley had stepped out earlier for a drink.

“Good morning, Miss Gibson!” the teller, Mr. Hardy, greeted cheerfully, and unlike his son, was a pretty decent man with principles. “What may I help you with?”

“Good morning, Mr. Hardy,” Waverly replied warmly, smiling politely, “I need to access my uncle's vault, please.”

“Sure thing, Miss Gibson. Key?”

“Ah,” Waverly dug through her clutch for a moment, pulling the small object from in its depths, tenderly passing it over. “Here.”

“Now, while I go into the back, I need you to sign… right here.”

Mr. Hardy slid out of behind his desk and left the room. Waverly leaned over and read the paper thoroughly before picking up the pen to sign. She felt the deputy staring at her and allowed a tiny smile to tug at her lips.

The door creaked open and Waverly glanced at the figure that had entered, waving slightly.

“Good morning, Mister Quinn!”

Waverly beamed towards the young gentleman, who nodded and tipped his hat in a fidgety manner, and stood by the door nervously.

“Quinn went to school with me,” Waverly explained quietly to the deputy in a low tone, smile widening. “He used to punch Champ when he was being particularly annoying. I’m surprised he never tried to be deputy...”

“Waverly…” Quinn started, and the Deputy Haught’s gaze narrowed at the man immediately. “Say, uh, you gone and went to some fancy school?”

“Mount Holyoke?”

“Yeah…” Quinn carried on quickly, “that musta been a lotta money for your uncle to pay...”

“Yes… I suppose.”

Waverly’s gaze narrowed now as well, her tone becoming slightly suspicious.

“Your point?”

“I hate to do this, seein’ we was good friends in school an all…” Quinn murmured, sweat rolling off his nose as he pulled one of his hands out of his jacket, pistol raised. “But I gotta pay my debt off somehow.”

Waverly stared in complete shock, gaping.

“Quinn-”

“You're pretty stupid, tryin’ to rob a bank right next to a sheriff’s office, idiot.” Deputy Haught snapped tensely, drawing Quinn’s attention from Waverly, pistol raised, fingers tightening in at the scene set. “Jus’ put your gun down.”

“I ain't goin’ nowhere with you.” Quinn spat, pulling the hammer back with a trembling thumb. “Even if I got to blow your head off!”

“You don't wanna do somethin’ dumb, mister.” Deputy Haught responded lowly, watching the man's eyes darting between herself and Waverly. “I swear if any harm come to her, I'll shoot you faster than you can entertain such thoughts, you fopdoodle.”

Deputy Haught forced herself between Quinn’s aim and Waverly.

Time appeared to slow as Waverly gazed between the deputy and Quinn, her heart thundering against her chest in a harsh drumbeat, like that of what she heard war drums were described as sounding.

A gunshot ran loudly in her ears, loud and piercing, and Waverly shrieked, falling in fear at the ear-shattering noise opposite of the deputy, her head and back slamming harshly against the rough wood. She barely registered the sound of small rips in the fabric of her dress, her ears ringing and her head swirling in a cloud of terrified shock. She heard Deputy Haught release a cry of sheer agony, watching her firing a few shots on her path to the ground, hitting the hard surface with a worrying thud, heavily grunting and hissing in pain.

Quinn took a couple of bullets as well. He had dropped after being shot through the chest twice, dark red patches appearing on his clothes, his breathing coming out in sputtering coughs.

She gazed fearfully at the sight of the thick red stream pumping out of the hole, her stare unmoving. Gaze transfixed as she watched the soul slowly begin to leave the man's body.

Deputy Haught coughed and managed to drag herself to a standing position, the same thick red stream seeping through her fingers clutched at her side, an involuntary twitch beginning to set in.

Waverly pushed herself back to her feet on shaking legs, fluttering to the deputy’s side and assist the injured woman.

“He shot you,” Waverly pointed out in a low, hollow tone, still completely distressed and unnerved over what she had just witnessed. She felt lightheaded at the sight of dark red pouring through the deputy’s trembling fingers. “Deputy-”

“Waverly…” Deputy Haught began slowly, eyes scrunched in pain, bringing the cleaner of her two bloodstained hands to Waverly’s cheek, cupping the smooth skin, running a thumb against it tenderly. “He didn't- didn't get you… did he?”

“No,” Waverly finally croaked out in a broken reply, releasing a small sob as she slowly came to the reality of what had occurred, clasping her hands around the one caressing her cheek in a soothing motion, “I'm uninjured, Deputy Haught.”

“Good.” the deputy gave her a pained smile, beginning to sway slightly. “I’m… glad I did my job correctly… it'd be bad bein’ new deputy...”

“What the hell was that!” Mr. Hardy demanded, gazing at the two and Quinn’s body. “Waverly? Deputy?”

“He- he tried to… to rob Waverly… and refused to cooperate. Then he shot at us. Shot me…”

“M- Mr. Hardy, ple- please tell the sheriff what happened… I'm ta- taking the deputy to g- get medical care.” Waverly told the older gentelman through sniffles as Deputy Haught’s slurring and swaying increased drastically, fear threatened to lock her heart away forever as it continued to beat harshly against her chest. “Deputy, where is your horse?”

Ignoring the pain searing at the back of her skull as the deputy leaned even further on her, panic began binding her heart to her chest tightly now, beginning to restrict her lungs with terror.

She released another harsh sob, the volume increasing with each one that tumbled past her lips.

The deputy mumbled an unintelligible reply, seeming to shrug it off.

“Deputy Haught,” Waverly gently shook the tall woman, attempting to keep her focus, she gritted out through tears in a sputtering cry, “once again, where is your horse, damn it!”

“Out… front.”

At the words, Waverly guided the injured deputy to her mount, struggling to assist her into the saddle. She pulled the reins over the golden mare’s neck, pulling herself nimbly into the saddle, Deputy Haught slumped over the saddle towards Waverly.

She sent Deputy Haught’s mare flying down the dirt road, gripping the reins tightly.

During the ride towards where she last remembered as the town doctor’s residence and order of operation, she feared the worst, glancing back at the too-pale deputy, knitting her brows as she gazed at her barely moving inhale of breath.

As the familiar residence appeared in her vision, Waverly felt her heart begin to slow. Hope began to fill her chest.

“Callie!” Waverly cried, gathering the attention of the young golden-haired girl in question as she pulled the horses to a halt in front of the stoop, “is Dr. Sharpiro in?”

“She just arrived not even an hour from assistin’ the Goodman household, and’s with a patient, ma’am,” Callie replied quickly, standing from her perch, frowning at the sight of the slumping deputy and Waverly’s disheveled appearance, she jumped into action immediately. “I'll go tell her you're here.”

“I beg you, be swift.”

Callie left her project on the stoop, rushing into the house with clumsy teenage limbs, muffled shouting for the doctor coming within.

Waverly gasped, more tears streaming down her face, pulling herself downward from atop the saddle in a sweeping motion, hoisting her skirts as she looped around the golden mare to help the deputy to the ground.

“E- easy there, deputy.”

“Tha- thank you...” Deputy Haught weakly slumped against her horse in an attempt to keep upright when her boots hit the dirt with a muted thud, tilting her head down to whisper softly in Waverly’s ear, “My- my name is Nicole Haught... I- I know yo- you know, Waverly... You're a… a smart lady.”

Waverly’s gaze locked with the Deputy’s- Nicole’s- studying her intensely when the redhead had pulled back. She placed her hand over Waverly’s cheek again, stroking the brunette’s skin softly, wiping tears away. They stood, staring at one another in utter silence. It hung heavily in the air around them.

“You need to see the doctor…” Waverly breathed out gently with a small sniffle, breaking their moment, fear returning to her. She decided to address the heavy silence from Nicole in a small whisper. “Not now. Please, you must see the doctor first. We'll discuss this after she takes care of you… Nicole.”

“P- promise?”

“Yes,” Waverly agreed immediately, squeezing Nicole’s hand tightly for one brief moment. “I promise.”

Waverly guided Nicole into Dr. Sharpiro’s residence, taking great care to not jostle her in any way, gripping the taller woman tightly.

They entered the foyer slowly, Callie and Dr. Sharpiro greeted them, both looping an arm around the injured deputy. Waverly wiped her tears, cheeks raw and warm. She helplessly glanced around the room, barely paying notice to the doctor's most recent patient.

Overwhelmed, Waverly stepped outside and took a seat on the porch, unable to assist and not wanting to be in the way, she gazed out across the railing, vaguely registering the sound of the door creaking open again and boots thudding in her direction.

“Hello, Waverly. I'd understand if ya don't recognize me no more… it's been a fair few years since we last seen each other.”

Startled, Waverly turned her head and stared in mortified shock at the figure now standing before her.

“No. You died. You're dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you also following 'My Silver Lining,' I should have the next chapter up sometime tomorrow. 
> 
> Shoot me any questions on Tumblr at: the-unicorn-empress


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long. I'm not going anywhere, I promise.

Upon hearing Waverly utter the mere sentence, Wynonna flinched.

Waverly stood, outstretching a hand to lay against the railing as she inspected the tall brunette with cold reservation, blue eyes glittering dimly under the shadow now cast upon her face.

Wynonna no longer appeared how Waverly remembered and pictured her older sister. This couldn't be Wynonna. It was impossible. Wynonna was slaughtered alongside her father and mother. This woman must have been hired by Bobo in an attempt to continue his twisted mind game in her flustered state, toying with her like she was an injured animal ready for death. The ultimate insult spat in her face by none other than the man whom she suspected to play a role in her uncle's death.

“Waverly…”

Waverly snapped out of her stupor, back to reality. She met the woman's gaze with a chilly stare once again.

“You listen here carefully now, my sister was killed- don't you dare dishonor her memory by masquerading around as her! I know Bobo put you up to this, and do not dare dispute me, I will catch that sly devil one of these days when he decides to shed his sheepskin!”

The woman stared at Waverly, only moving slightly to exhale, steady and low. She stared as if she had only just laid eyes on the shorter woman for the first time.

“Waverly,” she repeated, rocking on her boot heels hesitantly. “I ain't workin’ for Bobo…”

“I'll only believe you nonsense when hell freezes over!” Waverly barked, tears blurring her sight, she released the rail, beginning to pace across the stoop as she spoke in a broken tone, her bloody hands curled tightly into fists in anger, harshly gripping her now frayed, dirt smeared and bloodstained skirt. “I do not have time for this foolishness, go tell that slimy leech that if he wants a war, then he better keep looking over his shoulder, because I'm coming for him!”

“Oh,” the woman murmured lowly, her features going stone cold, “I been plannin’ on givin’ him one for a while now, Baby.”

Waverly came to an abrupt halt in her tracks, turning quickly to face the stranger. She stared up at her with a wide gaze, disbelief written plain as day in her stare.

For the second time that day, Waverly felt as if time had slowed to a crawl, each miniature detail being pulled into clear focus.

“Pardon me?” Waverly asked, standing as still as an unmoving bolder. “What did you just say?”

“Waverly,” Wynonna started cautiously, throwing her hand down in a swift motion to draw the gun against her hip, “if I were lyin’, would I know about this?”

She held the shiny revolver up at eye level in a sure but nonthreatening manner, her icy blue eyes glittering back at Waverly with clear confidence.

“That's-”

“Daddy’s revolver? The one _I_ hid?” Wynonna gently spun the revolver across her fingers, bright sunbeams glinting off the gun as it smoothly twirled in her tanned, calloused grip. “The one Momma gave to him as an anniversary gift long before we left Arizona? The one engraved ‘Ward E. Gibson, 1847’?”

Waverly stared, completely shocked and floored, she could not remove her gaze from the other woman. This woman was most definitely Wynonna, with no room for doubt or any questions.

“Why would I lie about being your sister?”

“ _Perhaps,_ ” Waverly replied bitterly, her momentary shock twisting into anger at Wynonna abandoning her, “since I've recently inherited the McCready fortune, ranch, and claim, that tends to draw liars and thieves in.”

“You- _what?!_ ” Wynonna shouted, taken aback, immediately holstering the revolver, solely focusing on Waverly. “Uncle Curtis… _when?_ ”

“It was only a few weeks ago...”

Wynonna released a shaky breath, leaning the weight of her tired frame against the railing, lowering her face into her hands.

“Shit… I- I didn't know, Waverly.”

The two sisters stood in silence, both pondering on the thought of the past, of their uncle, of the time that had soared and drastically changed them as people.

“Uh- M- Miss Waverly?”

Waverly pried her gaze from Wynonna’s to meet the stuttering teenager's emerald stare.

“Yes, Callie?”

“Uh, Dr. Sharpiro would like to speak to you, ma'am. Says uh,” Callie lowered her voice slightly, “says it's... ‘bout the deputy, ma'am…”

Waverly glanced at Wynonna, disregarding her better judgements and feelings of caution.

“You and I will finish this discussion later, Wynonna. You're free to give me a hand with the deputy and join me back at the Homestead.”

Wynonna silently nodded, following Waverly and Callie back into the foyer.

 

Nicole found herself feeling Waverly’s presence hovering close by, most likely standing hesitantly in the doorway of the guestroom for the fifth day since she had so graciously volunteered to care for her. She also found herself beginning to anticipate the daily occasion. Waverly would sit and join her quite frequently. Multiple times a day they would chat, sometimes Waverly would read aloud to Nicole, or just enjoy the silence of the other's company. Waverly took great care to ensure Nicole was fed and comfortable, bringing meals or snacks during her now not-so-impromptu visits, constantly checking to see if she needed her wounds tended to or word sent for the doctor.

Today, Nicole scribbled in her journal, the sheriff had delivered it earlier in the day, along with the few items she possessed, having thought they'd be safer if they were back with her instead. She paused, closing the book, gazing up at Waverly, and slid the withering tome onto the table next to her, also sliding the pencil to lay by it, sliding her hands over the blanket nervously. She lightly clasped her hands together across her lap, brown eyes appearing to shimmer the color of amber in the bright sunlight streaming in through the open window.

Waverly glanced towards the redhead, briefly locking eyes, and was was briefly reminded of a warm glass of apple cider, Nicole’s gaze sparkling in the yellow haze of day, compassion and tenderness shining from them. She quickly pried her gaze from Nicole’s, allowing herself to be blinded by sunbeams, waiting for the time when Nicole would finally break the silent passing that would flow under each conversation.

“Didn't know you had a sister…”

Waverly fully met Nicole’s understanding stare slowly, smiling ruefully. She entered the room, softly closing the door behind her, padding quietly over to the chair at the bedside.

“Nor did I, Nicole.” Waverly replied gently, smile disappearing, grazing her fingers gingerly across the back of the stiff wooden chair, inspecting Nicole’s warm gaze with mild curiosity as she lowered her weight against the cushions lightly.

Nicole held a hand out for her and Waverly grasped it without hesitation before continuing.

“Well, I suppose now… I was led to believe her to be dead for the longest time…”

Waverly lapsed into a tense silence, sporting a frown as she now held the redhead’s hand, gazing at Nicole blankly. Nicole looked up at Waverly, watching the brunette chewing on her lip nervously.

“Waverly,” Nicole started, gathering the woman's attention once more. “I… I know that I don't know everything there is to know ‘bout you… far from it, and I… I know you don't know a thing ‘bout me… but I'd… I'd like to be that- that person… to… know ‘bout you...”

Waverly blinked.

“Are you… proposing we be more than acquaintances, Nicole?”

Nicole furrowed her brows together, nervously squeezing the brunette’s soft hand in her grip, swallowing her jittery heartbeat pounding against her throat, crushing her windpipe in the process as she mulled over her thoughts silently.

“I- yes…” she answered in but a whisper, her gaze fluttering to their interlaced fingers and back to Waverly’s face quickly, tensely observing her with a soft and somewhat coy gaze, “if you'll have me… I mean… I hope I ain't mistook, thinkin’ you was-”

Nicole was cut off by Waverly gently laying a finger across her lips, brown meeting blue, a silence passed by that conveyed everything Waverly currently thought.

“In due time, Deputy.” Waverly murmured affectionately as she removed her finger from the redhead’s plump, sun withered mouth. With a muted sparkle dancing in her pupils, Nicole began to gaze in breathless wonder at the statement. Waverly carefully leaned close to Nicole’s face, invading her every sense, planting her lips softly across Nicole’s cheek in a tantalizing, feather-light kiss. “I know it would make my heart cry to the heavens with utmost joy to accept your proposition, it truly would. But after the occurrence in the bank… I simply cannot put you in harm’s way again until I handle a few personal matters. I can't promise you anything more in this moment while there is a threat against me… my title… it pains me to even say that...”

“No, I- I understand...”

Nicole sighed, closing her eyes, her heart sinking an inch, an involuntary tingle crawled up her spine in a shudder as she began soaking in Waverly’s warmth from their proximity. She grasped Waverly’s hand against her other cheek, turning her mouth towards the brunette’s palm, allowing her breath to linger against the skin underneath her pulsing lips.

“And I must add, I am unclear as to whether or not I have told you before that recently I was frightened, and terribly so… I do fear you must now investigate the culprit whom committed such a vile act toward me.”

Nicole chuckled at Waverly’s words, running a soothing thumb across her warm skin. She barely opened an eye to glance at Waverly as she brushed her sun kissed, freckle-covered nose into Waverly’s pale, reassuring grip, pulling away eventually.

“Why, I believe jus’ yesterday you may have alluded to somethin’ along those lines…”

Waverly giggled and Nicole felt her heart soar at the sound, a small grin tugging at her lips as Waverly’s warm hands grasped hers. A smile as beautiful as a lily in the spring was displayed across the brunette’s face because of her. For her. And then, she wanted to do everything physically possible to make Waverly smile and laugh all the time. She wanted to paint this moment on a canvas and store it away forever. To write all the words she knew to describe the song her heart sang with bubbling affections towards the young heiress.

Share this moment for a lifetime.

For now, she'd graciously await the time she could fill Waverly and her heart, working her hardest to treasure and protect both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. The reason this took so long was because I've been super busy with work and my very old and beloved furchild was attacked and unfortunately did not survive. :(


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, I'm back, buckaroos.

Nicole gazed forward intently, her hands twisting nervously against her trousers, twitching at the combination of the chilly morning breeze, mixed with the spine-tingling sensation of sweat droplets rolling across her back. The sun beat down harshly upon the seated, wind-chilled congregation gathered on the dew covered, muddy property of Preacher Brandon Truesdell.

She vaguely remembered her days at church with her brother and parents as a young girl, they attended almost every Sunday back home. Always the same, gut wrenching, and most unquestionably fear-inducing preaching of a truly bitter, lone, crotchety old man with wispy hair and a gravelly rumble for a voice.

_“Confess thy sins or be damned to burn in hell forevermore! Confess to the Almighty Lord God and repent for your sins. Live your life the way thine Lord hath spoken to live, lest ye yearn to rot in the fire-filled lakes of hell and condemn your soul for eternity!”_

Preacher Truesdell was a whole new horse to Nicole.

A younger man by far in comparison to the preacher of her childhood and years as a youth lingering at the back of her mind, Preacher Truesdell was of great stature, sandy blonde hair cleanly trimmed with a matching mustache dangling past the corners of his friendly smile. His words far less scolding and threatening. His wife, two daughters, four sons, one daughter-in-law, and two grandchildren took up the entire first row. Not that she minded- she'd rather not draw attention from the townspeople seated around her- as she sat next to Waverly, the cowhands surrounding them, taking up two whole rows. She could sense the Sheriff's eyes burning a hole through her every so often with muted curiosity, a mixture of mild suspicion, and gentle knowing directed at a lightly snoring and drooling Wynonna. She knew the sheriff had his suspicions, but they were just that. She and Waverly had decided in an unspoken agreement that unless he asked, he was better left with his suspicions.

Nicole was suddenly jarred out of her innermost ramblings by a pleasant warmth creeping upon her. Without moving her head, she subtly glanced down at her thigh, where Waverly’s ungloved hand currently began to wind around hers tentatively, a small, instinctive gesture of comfort and heat.

She stared out of the corner of her vision at the dirt-crusted fingernails of her preoccupied hand with a slight frown, flexing them against Waverly’s pristine grip, slowly tuning the world out again, beginning to nervously tap the back of the brunette’s hand. Sure, the Homestead had some of those fancy indoor bathtubs and whatnot, but that couldn't seem to change the fact that she couldn't ever scrub the muck from her nails hard enough. Her entire face tingled uncomfortably at the thought of Waverly being unbothered to be seen in her company so frequently, despite Nicole being far less wealthy, constantly wearing what most rich folk usually considered filthy rags. They usually classified the redhead as positively unkept, when attempting to be polite to the deputy.

Nicole had tried her best that morning, going as far as to wear a freshly cleaned light blue button up Lonnie insisted she borrow, paired with black suspenders, matching coat and boots. She tugged her Stetson a bit lower, her eyes squinting against the brightness of noon. Her deputy’s badge flashed weakly in the light, reminding her that she had bigger problems to worry about than a bit of mud.

Wynonna sure as hell didn't care half the time, but upon Waverly’s insistent pleading, the older woman managed to throw a decent outfit together, and was fairly clean and gussied up for the first time since Nicole had seen the eldest Gibson. She was quite impressed to see the older woman in a corset and dress, her hair tamed, loose curls half pinned up. Nicole would put all her poker chips on the fact Wynonna was desperately trying to make amends with her younger sister and forge a relationship with her after all the years away. Although she secretly refuses to trust Wynonna just yet, Nicole knew she didn't have much of a right to feel that way, but she did. Unlike being utterly clear on her reasons for coming to Purgatory, she had no way to confirm Wynonna’s. A fact that made her terribly uneasy around Waverly’s supposedly elder sister. Nicole also had time to reflect upon her feelings as… jealousy. She ignored the nudging at the deepest depths of her consciousness to acknowledge that perhaps, she should quit lighting matches so close to the keg of gunpowder, before her heart potentially gets ripped from her chest because of her stupidity.

She could feel it in her very soul, this was only the calm before the storm.

“And with that, we say, ‘Amen’.” Preacher Truesdell finished cordially, “The Lord's blessings be upon you.”

Nicole blinked, sorely missing the warmth of Waverly’s fingers tangled against her own, eyeing the young woman as she adjusted her glove into place, attempting to go unnoticed.

Waverly’s twitching lips told her otherwise.

As a general buzz began to engulf the sermon attendees, the brunette stood, prompting Nicole to as well, who swiftly brushed her pant legs down, smoothing her jacket down. Nicole watched in amusement as Waverly proceeded to unsuccessfully rouse Wynonna from her nap, the older woman mumbling somewhat incoherently in their direction.

“I’m gonna punch your ugly mug in, Champ!” Wynonna snapped, her speech heavily slurred. “Hol’ on… Waverly.”

Waverly snickered as she retrieved her folded hand fan from within her clutch, sternly bopping Wynonna dead center between the eyes.

“What the hell!” Wynonna exclaimed, “Waverly...?”

“I tried civility,” Waverly told her sister innocently, completely doe-eyed, tilting her head down to glance at the dewy grass before resuming, “but I feared I would ever get you back, Wynonna.”

“Sneaky devil,” Wynonna mumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose, sinking an inch in her seat, shooting Waverly a stare full of mild displeasure.

Nicole glanced between the sisters, eyebrows raised, unsure whether she should laugh or give Wynonna a purposefully hard time for napping during Preacher Truesdell’s sermon… even if she herself had been otherwise preoccupied as well during it.

Neither, as fate would have it, Callie seemed to appear out of thin air to pleasantly greet Waverly.

“Good afternoon, Miss Gibson,” Callie addressed her lightly, fiddling with her modest-looking lime green dress, she smiled at Nicole politely, “you as well, Deputy Haught.”

“Afternoon, young lady,” Nicole replied in a raspy voice, jumping at an answer before Waverly, “I'd like to thank you again for your help. I wouldn't be here without it.”

“You're welcome!” Callie genuinely beamed at Nicole, still unaware of Wynonna’s presence. “Just doin’ my job, sir.”

“The doctor ain't with ya this morning?”

“No,” Startled, Callie answered slowly only now noticing Wynonna, squinting for a moment at her, “no, she ain't, ma’am. I reckon she'd be mighty glad to see you again, though. You could come by tomorrow morning, if you'd like.”

Wynonna grinned suddenly, reminding Nicole of a fox.

“Might just take ya up on the offer, kid.”

“I do hate to say; the doctor's probably anxious I ain't there to be her pack mule,” Callie started with a laugh, “it was nice seein’ you again Deputy Haught, Miss Gibson! See you tomorrow, Miss Wynonna!”

“Goodbye, Callie!” Waverly called, watching the teen drift away through the crowd. “I have many hopes for that girl.”

“Like everyone here does for you?” Nicole whispered suddenly, her chin tucked too far into her collarbone when Waverly and Wynonna both gazed at her, her neck and cheeks turning the same color as her hair. “I- uh, um-”

“Why, you are just too sweet, Deputy,” Wynonna began in a high lilt, diction crisp and clear in a overly dramatic tone, sounding too similar to Stephanie Jones for Waverly’s liking, standing suddenly to face Nicole, “but I'm afraid I must gently decline your affections. I simply cannot bear to tear you away from your true love: that badge. Nicholas Haught Jr., you will always have a special place in my heart.”

“I wasn't-”

“Shhhhh,” Wynonna shushed Nicole, placing a finger to the redhead’s lips, “one day, you will forget me.”

Nicole’s brows furrowed immensely, her brown eyes screaming with confusion as she glanced from Wynonna’s fingers to Waverly. The younger woman had been stifling her laughter with difficulty for the past minute, her face and neck steadily transformed from varying shades of red to a slight purple color from the strain.

“Goodbye,” Wynonna sighed heavily, “I must now escort my young sister home, for unfortunately, she is incapable of looking after herself.”

“Hey!” Waverly squawked indignantly, smacking Wynonna with the fan again, “No fair!”

“Honey,” Wynonna said, turning to her sister, abandoning the play immediately, “life ain't fair. But no matter how rough the road becomes, or however steep the mountain path, you jus’ gotta keep on, babygirl. Yeah?”

Waverly’s smile dropped, her nostrils flared as her eyes took on a spooked gaze, she instantly stood straighter, unconsciously taking a step backwards.

“I- I just remembered I have a few errands to run!” Waverly squeaked, gathering her skirt in her grasp frantically. “Good afternoon, I'll see you both back at the Homestead.”

“Waverly,” Nicole began, her spine stiff, “hey, wait, wha-”

“I apologize for my haste, but you must please excuse me,” Waverly insisted, beginning to scurry away, “Lonnie!”

Lonnie’s head whipped in their direction from where he stood chatting with the preacher, “Yes, ma’am?”

“I have somewhere to be, please ready the carriage.”

“Right then, Miss Waverly,” Lonnie replied, nodding, “good afternoon, Preacher Truesdell. Excellent sermon.”

Waverly made a beeline through the crowd of people, disappearing into her carriage with Lonnie trailing after her, leaving behind a thoroughly befuddled Nicole.

 

 

After she finished her duties for the evening, Nicole immediately retreated to her quarters upon returning to the Homestead, in a manner that could only be described as sullen. Huffing, she slammed herself into the chair at her desk, beginning to angrily scribble in her journal. She didn't know how long she sat there writing, but could tell it was quite late when she glanced out the window, only to see all the candles in the other houses on the main land of the ranch to be out, only the sounds of the owls, crickets, and many vast creatures singing and hollering into the dead of night.

A swift knocking on her door caught her attention.

“Come in,” Nicole uttered softly, closing her journal.

“Hi, Nicole,” Waverly greeted quietly, pushing the door behind her back into its place. She balanced a tray in her grasp, barely able to look Nicole in the eye. “I brought food. Heard you didn't come to dinner tonight…”

Nicole slowly accepted the tray offered in her direction, setting the rattling metal upon the empty corner of the desk, she turned back to Waverly.

“After I stomped away this noon, I eventually retrieved letters from my uncle’s vault… confirming what I previously felt to be true.” Waverly explained in a hollow tone, “I was, was just so taken aback by Wynonna saying those words. It was a phrase our father told us a lot. He actually said it the day they- well, he and momma- were killed.”

Nicole sat, her full attention on Waverly.

“I'm sorry for the way I treated you at noon, Nicole.” Waverly told her, sorrowful, “I shouldn't have handled our parley in the manner I did. I deeply regret my actions and truly hope you may forgive me.”

“I-” Nicole faltered, her heart thumped loudly, perhaps even beating in her ears, “of course I accept your apology, Waverly…”

The room became silent, the sound of the candles flickering and their breathing stretched out into the territory of unspoken thoughts, feelings, and the walls. Nicole stared at Waverly, watching the brunette chew her lip pensively, lost in her thoughts.

“May- may I kiss you?” Waverly inquired suddenly, catching the entranced redhead completely off guard. “I should not hav-”

“Yes.” Nicole said with complete certainty. “Please.”

They made direct eye contact, their gazes locking, sending an intense spark of warmth down Nicole’s being. She planted her feet against the hard grain of wood, standing, apt to only make a move after Waverly, worried about pressuring the younger woman into something she may not desire. The brunette slowly erased the distance between them, her breathing picking up pace. Waverly then placed her hands in a soft cradle to Nicole’s face, slowly pulling Nicole’s face closer to hers, her eyes fluttering to glance down at the redhead’s lips. Nicole exhaled slowly, allowing Waverly to guide their lips together. She pulled away after a minute, circling her arms around the shorter woman, unable to resist planting a kiss against the brunette’s hair. Waverly leaned into her embrace as they stood, sighing deeply as she listened to Nicole’s heartbeat, her own arms snaking around the taller woman's hips.

“Now,” Waverly finally piped up, lifting her head, “I'm sure you're famished, after what I've been through today, I know I am.”

Laughing, the two woman sat on the bed, sharing the meal together, flickering candles and chorus of night their only other company.

 

 

Meanwhile, back in the town, a mysterious pair of riders began making their way through the center, the companions approached the _Gardner Inn_ , halting outside the building to secure their steeds to the post and enter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad Western Kids bein' sad and semi-angsty. This didn't turn out the way I planned, but that's ok. All my wips are Unbeta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes I missed when editing.


	6. Chapter 6

Wynonna squinted against the first beams of morning, pressing her heels firmly against her mare's ribs, the horse transitioned from a casual trot into a smooth canter, the breeze catching her hair gently.

“Hey!” Shorty uttered, nudging his graying stallion forward, barely matching her mare's quick strides, “you’s a young’un. How about you slow down for this old dog?”

She laughed, throwing her head back, sticking her tongue out at him. Wynonna had been interrogated by Shorty on her destination for the morning as he caught her sneaking out to the stables, persuading her she wouldn't regret him accompanying her on the ride there, claiming he hadn't been feeling well as of late and needed to see the doctor. They currently rode a small dirt path, which easily ran through the center of town. They maneuvered their steeds quickly through the square, the town still asleep. It was a sight to see. Empty and serene with slumber, the crow of a rooster echoed across the sleepy buildings faintly.

“How's Doc been?” Wynonna questioned lowly, grinning, her lips curling up mischievously over a handsome row of sparkling teeth. “I was thinkin’ back the other day about how much I miss him.”

“Wynonna, you and that damn beast you gave Waverly appear to share somethin’ in common.” Shorty griped in annoyance, irritably adjusting his grip on his mare's reins. “Sly bastards that give the menfolk hell’s time on earth. Then acts like a showboat when Waverly is around. That stupid animal’s right as rain when he knows she's even thinkin’ of ridin’ him. Acts all coy ‘round her, too.”

The brunette simply chuckled, pride and warmth tickling her chest, incredibly joyous to learn her handpicked gift to Waverly had been received so well. She had been corresponding with Curtis in an attempt to coerce him into allowing her to secretly give a gift to Waverly for being accepted into a women's seminary in the United States. She decided that her trusty steed at the time, Doc, would make the perfect going away gift. He was an energetic young stallion that had been trained as a show horse, one she had _rescued_ , for lack of a better term, from a well-dressed, pig-headed businessman that challenged her to a drinking competition one night in a crowded saloon.

“Wynonna,” Shorty addressed the brunette quietly, turning his gaze towards her, his tone serious, “you best quit dancin’ ‘round tellin’ Waverly the whole truth, lest you want her to think you’s a chiseler. She's mighty heartbroken by Curtis’ death. We both damn well know she didn't take kindly to findin’ out you was still alive. I dunno how much more she'll tolerate, the poor little lass.”

Wynonna lowered her eyes to the path ahead, pretending she didn't register his words of warning.

 

Nicole basked in the silence of the morning, sitting at her desk in a relaxed state, enjoying the calm of the hour. She sipped at the coffee Sheriff Nedley had offered, puckering her lips when the warm bitterness made contact with her tongue, clicking her teeth together at the sensation. She set the tin mug on the rough surface of the wood beneath her fingertips, tapping them against her desk in a calm beat. The sun shone in through the nearby window on the door, casting the room in a soft, golden glow. She took the opportunity to pull out her journal, continuing her scribbling within its pages. If it could be classified as such an action. She paused, the tip of her tongue poked out of her lips as she concentrated, beginning to scratch away again. She resumed her sketching, brows scrunched with the intensity of her focus. Nicole slowly penciled a rough portrait of Waverly when they had first met, she had been beautifully regal. As seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, up until a large shadow engulfed her patch of light, she turned her head up, inquisitiveness written across her features. Large, shadowy outlines of two men stood in front of the door, peering in through the smudged glass, their gazes landing on her. She stowed her journal back into her vest quickly, straightening in her chair. They allowed themselves in, striding across the room, halting at her desk. A man with graying hair took a step in her direction, eyeing her with curiosity.

“Marshal Lucado,” the gray-haired man introduced himself formally, flashing his badge, tipping his hat to his dark-skinned man companion “this here is my partner, Deputy Marshal Dolls.”

“Haught,” Nicole informed the marshal, standing and offering the older gentleman a polite hand, “Deputy Sheriff Haught. What may I assist you fellas with today?”

“Good to meet ya,” Marshal Lucado said, grasping her hand professionally, “my partner and I were wonderin’ if you or anyone else has seen these two wanted individuals, Deputy Haught.”

Nicole accepted the photographs Marshal Deputy Dolls presented, giving his hand a firm shake as well, she began inspecting them closely, keeping her face in a neutral stare.

"Many apologies, Marshal Lucado, Marshal Deputy Dolls,” Nicole eventually told the tall man and his deputy, lowering the photographs from her line of vision, she handed the photographs over to Marshal Lucado. She tugged at her Stetson nervously, attempting to relieve the tension she felt in her hands. “Can't say I recognize either of these folks. I will, however, mention of your visit to the sheriff, I'm positive he'll wanna set posters on the boards.”

Nicole then bid the two looming marshals a good day, heaving herself behind her desk once they disappeared through the door, into the buzzing crowd outside the office, an exhausted sigh escaping her lips.

Unfortunately, she had recognized one of the folks the marshal and his deputy sought. A matter that caused her much uneasiness upon discovering. The first bounty belonged to a man simply known as Charlie, a man she had never met nor could ever recall meeting. The second bounty belonged his partner, a blonde woman known as Willa Earp- her face appeared a bit too familiar, a face Nicole was dead sure she had been seeing and conversing with daily now. But this woman sure as hell didn't go by Willa, nor Earp, and that was the great bottom fact. No. She went by the name of Wynonna Gibson, claiming to be the older sister of one Waverly Gibson.

In her mind, this pushed a final tipping point for her patience with Wynonna, she resolved to watch the older brunette like a hawk before confronting her. Allow Wynonna a bit more time. Closely observe if she was the woman she claimed to be, or perhaps, it was all a party trick for a cheap dollar. She knew, once Wynonna stepped out of line, it would be all bets off and a fair game for Nicole to arrest her and turn her in to the marshals at her doorstep.

 

Later that day, Waverly sat, gathered at the small wooden tea table found in the parlor with Chrissy Nedley and Stephanie Jones.

Once a week, they met for tea and biscuits, a tradition Waverly and Chrissy upheld since they were mere children. They shared a great history, not only were they close, their fathers had been on quite friendly terms with each other, highly approving of the girls’ friendship. It was how they became friends. Curtis would host the Nedleys for lunch or teatime once a month, and as the girls grew closer, their outings turned into a weekly tradition. It was familiar, warm, a piece of home as it were. As it should be. It brought fleeting solace to her weary heart. The tingling of pleasantries numbed her overactive mind, allowing her little rest from the swarm of thoughts swirling through her head, mostly centered on a certain deputy sheriff. Only, because Chrissy had dragged along an uninvited Miss Jones, the redhead apparently had been on more than one girl's mind of the three sat at the table, Stephanie sighing and fawning now that the deputy could be seen assisting Ewan tend to a broken fence that sorely required mending. Nicole had shed her outer shirt, the high noon sun beat harshly upon her bare neck and shoulders, droplets of sweat glistened lightly across the redhead’s pinking skin, muscles contracting with the force she exerted.

“So handsome,” Stephanine swooned vaguely, dreamily staring out the window of the parlor, fanning herself. “Polite, too.”

Waverly immediately shared an understanding look out of the corner of her eye with Chrissy, restraining herself with the everlasting will of God above to keep a polite smile in place. Chrissy contined to apologize with her pained gaze at the brunette, glancing miserably at Waverly over Stephanie’s dramatics.

“Mr. Allenbach?” Waverly inquired with inauthentic interest from behind her teacup, she knew exactly whom Stephanie referred to in her enchanted state. “Do tell me if I'm wrong, I merely observed the way you-”

“No,” Stephanie gasped, utterly scandalized at the brunette, “it's that lawman, Waverly.”

“My apologies,” Waverly corrected herself swiftly, cupping her unoccupied hand over her mouth to stifle a snigger, “I absolutely had no inkling you harbored feelings for Sheriff Nedley, Miss Jones.”

Chrissy suddenly coughed, sputtering out a loud peal of laughter at the mention of her father, close to dropping her teacup onto the rug beneath their feet. Beside her, Stephanie turned a nasty shade of maroon, her blonde hair standing out brightly against it, she released loud, unintelligible squawking noises of protest.

“Not that one!” Stephanie finally cried out in a high-pitched squeak with mighty indignation, having recovered from such a horrific statement, her face ablaze with embarrassment. “I was talking about that handsome deputy of his with those adorable blazin’ locks!”

Chrissy began laughing harder than she had a minute ago, tears streaming down her face, hands bracing herself against the table. To her, and just about anyone else with a pair of eyes and half their wits about them, it was clear as day that Deputy Haught was completely and wholly holding a flame for Waverly. Yes, he was a polite, upstanding man of law, but there was just a special air to him in Waverly’s presence. For almost the past month, Waverly had the redheaded man wrapped around her little finger completely, but unlike with the many other men pining after her, it was clear she greatly returned his affections. She felt strongly that it would only be a matter of time before they were all receiving wedding invitations. She couldn't wait to relish the moment she saw Stephanie’s face once she discovered yet one more man did not return her affections as she had previously thought. It was always nice to witness her blonde friend get put back into her place.

Waverly smiled, perhaps she would enjoy this day after all.

 

“Thank you,” Waverly began, offering Nicole a glass of apple cider, “Mr. Allenbach was perfectly capable of mending that fence by his lonesome, Nicole.”

“I'm aware,” Nicole replied, taking a long gulp of the drink she had been handed, sighing. “I still can't thank you enough for your kindness, Waverly.”

“Oh, I think you'll figure something out, deputy.”

Nicole met Waverly’s grin, after glancing around their surroundings, she approached in a languid manner, squaring her shoulders. She bent at the waist, leaning forward, her free hand cupping the brunette’s flushed cheek softly. They joined in the middle, lips crashing together lightly, Waverly clutching firmly at one of Nicole’s suspenders, drawing the redhead in closer, if possible. Waverly opened her mouth, allowing Nicole room to explore, the bitterness of the remains of apple cider lingered, contrasting the sweet taste of their kiss. She thoroughly enjoyed the way the brunette reacted to their exchange, tilting her head down for a better angle, her tongue lightly grazing Waverly’s teeth. Waverly released an exhale through her nose, her other hand grasping Nicole’s sweaty bicep, feverishly returning the kisses. Eventually, Waverly pulled away, no longer trusting herself to keep her actions decent, longing washing throughout her entire being. She held her stance, closing her eyes as Nicole leaned in, placing a soft peck to her temple, the redhead inhaling her scent deeply. Nicole shifted her weight back onto her heels, trailing her hand from Waverly’s cheek, immediately clasping the brunette’s grip on her suspender, lifting the skin to her mouth.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Nicole whispered against Waverly’s hand, “good evening, Miss Waverly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a slow one, my peoples. Unbeta'd, I apologize for any mistakes I missed when editing.


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